The answer dawned on Rebus a moment too late as Driscoll’s forehead drove into the bridge of his nose. He reeled backwards, eyes brimming with tears. He could feel the warm blood begin to run from his nostrils down towards his chin.

‘Christ’s sake, Rob.’ It was Chris Agnew who spoke, hauling Driscoll a few steps away from the fray. Driscoll ignored him, pointing at Rebus instead.

‘Just keep the fuck away from us! We’re fighting fires in all directions and the last thing we need is an interfering old bastard like you!’

‘VIP welcome, I think you told me I’d get,’ Rebus said for Fleck’s benefit. Driscoll meantime was looking around for his cigarette. Having decided it couldn’t be saved, he dug another from the packet, all witnessed by Rebus through blurred vision. While he wiped at his eyes, Fleck produced a large white handkerchief, which he pressed to Rebus’s nose.

‘This isn’t how we go about things, Rob,’ Fleck declared.

‘It’s exactly how we go about things. I’ve known you do a lot worse in your day.’

‘What sort of worse?’ Rebus asked.

A blast of laughter escaped Driscoll as he arched his face skywards. ‘He just won’t give up, will he?’

‘I really won’t,’ Rebus confirmed. He had taken control of the handkerchief with one hand and was pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

‘Come on, Rob,’ Agnew was saying, tugging at his colleague’s arm.

‘Keeping you from something, are we, Chris?’ Driscoll teased. ‘Or should that be someone?’ He jabbed a finger into Agnew’s chest as he spoke. ‘You’re looking for people who didn’t get on with Francis, here’s exhibit one.’

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Agnew said, releasing Driscoll’s arm. ‘You’re well out of order.’ He began to march back towards the pub.

‘Tell me something I don’t know!’ Driscoll called out to him, before turning towards Rebus and Fleck. ‘There goes a bastard who can’t take a joke.’

‘Probably because he didn’t think you were joking,’ Fleck responded.

‘Alan, you’ve got a face like a skelped arse.’

‘Whose fault is that, do you think?’